by Jane Lebak
Before Gabriel could identify any of the other voices, someone crashed through the brush toward him. "Gabriel! That's awesome!"
Gabriel scrambled to a stand, a little dazed and a lot homesick for the song and the peace of being with God however he was able. Raguel scrambled over the rocks toward him. "I didn't know you could sing like that!"
"Careful, it's easy to slip." Gabriel gestured to the rocks at the creek edge. "I'm not really that great—"
"You sang on the road, but it wasn't like that. Those were just road songs. This was a hymn. What language was it?"
Gabriel said, "Did anyone ever tell you that you ask too many questions?"
Raguel paused a moment. "I think you did."
"Smart man," Gabriel said, and Raguel laughed out loud.
"Well, go on!" Raguel sat on one of the larger rocks. "It's not like we forbid singing on the Sabbath. Heaven knows we forbid everything else."
Gabriel said, "There's a purpose to resting."
Raguel raised his hands. "I get that. I like resting. It's everyone fussing over whether you're resting enough or if you've taken more steps than a Sabbath's journey. I don't even see why we need one."
Gabriel said, "It's a clever thing, setting aside time. When people set up idols, they make a sacred place for them, a location. God set apart a sacred time for himself, and that made history and time sacred."
Raguel pointed at him. "Did anyone ever tell you that you answer too many questions?"
Gabriel said, "Everyone."
"Smart people," said Raguel. "But yeah, if God asks us to quit working one day a week, that's fine by me. It just shows us the work we do the rest of the week is useless."
Gabriel frowned. "I wouldn't say that. I like working. And if you think about it, God rested on that first Sabbath, but He's worked every Sabbath since then."
Raguel shook his head. "You're making me confused." He hesitated. "You like working?"
Gabriel nodded. "Sabbaths are hard because it feels as if we're just waiting for the work to begin again, and even though working for your family is harder than what I was doing before, it feels right. I like pulling my own weight."
"That's good," Raguel said as they headed back to the house. "Because I really like having you here, and I know my Dad thinks you work well. If you decide not to go home, I bet Grandpa would adopt you so you'd always be a part of our family."
Back at the house they found a crowd of the family beneath a cedar tree.
Raguel's mother met them at the edge. "Rafaela's kitten is caught in the top branches."
Rafaela cried at the base of the trunk. "Pearl!" she screamed. "Please come down!"
Gabriel shielded his eyes and scanned the height of the tree. No, that was too far up for the kitten to come down on her own. She'd fall.
Gabriel grasped the trunk.
Gabelus said, "Climbing is work."
Gabriel knew the rules. "Sabbath or not, you save a life."
With a scramble, Gabriel made his way onto the lowest limb and ascended. A rustling informed him that Raguel followed not far below.
Angels fly. Vertigo had never troubled Gabriel; it didn't enter his mind that perhaps people didn't live in trees for a good reason. He advanced through the branch-maze, pushing himself with his legs as often as grasping with his arms, and eventually the foliage that looked so thick from the outside dissolved into bare-boned branches.
The tree swayed, and the leaves whispered against one another like conspirators. It wasn't apparent where to put his hands next, and he craned back his neck to get a dizzying view of the kitten, still four cubits above.
Last summer, Gabriel had rested his ear against this trunk and talked to the tree, finding out how old it was, learning which had been the good years. He'd rejoiced with the leaves as they basked in the sunlight, each one contributing little to the whole but all together powering a life towering above the plains. Legs swinging, wings relaxed, he'd watched the flax harvest and talked to God and waited for Raphael. It might have been on this branch. Was this the tree with the dead Gabriel beneath?
Gabriel gripped the trunk, wishing he could grab himself from back then and give himself a shake. Look at yourself! he shouted at himself a year ago, a Gabriel adoring mysteries in a tree rather than visiting a human household with his friend. Go down there—be with Raphael! Don't throw away the gift of time together! Trust in God! You've got to change something or you'll fall—you'll fall—
"You okay?" Raguel called.
Gabriel got a grip on himself and continued climbing.
On branches at right angles to one another, the pair stood at a dizzying height. Gabriel's fingers could finally stroke the tiny head. He shifted a bit into his angelic abilities so he could talk to the animal as he gathered her into his hand. "Easy, Pearl, you kitten of great value."
Raguel, a little lower than himself, said, "Hand her to me and you go down, then I'll hand her back to you."
As Raguel secured the kitten, Gabriel shifted his weight to descend, and his foot slipped.
He reacted instinctively by flexing his spine and trying to flare wings he didn't have.
Raguel lunged for him, but his fingers did no more than brush Gabriel's arm, and Gabriel's grasp met only air.
- + -
A blurred world met Gabriel's mind. As he sought a landmark in the haze, he tried to turn away from a peculiar pressure in his head, but pain stabbed through his left side. A grassy smell surrounded him, and something firm but warm pressed into the back of his neck. He reached for the Vision, but it wasn't there, and that scared him, so he tried again, only he couldn't find God. There was a rapid rasping, high-pitched and scary-sounding. He wanted the sound to stop until he realized it came with his every breath. Why was he breathing? Why wasn't God here?
Someone stroked his hand. He clutched for them, and then his heart flailed trying to find God until he plummeted into another unwilling sleep.
"Can you hear me?" said a familiar voice after a dark time. "Talk to me."
He reached for God. Nothing. God? Nothing. Father? Nothing. Where are you? Why aren't you with me? Why can't I see you?
"Gabriel?" the voice said.
Stay here, Gabriel tried to say. He wasn't sure the words ever emerged. Don't leave me alone!
Existence faded into another whirlpool, and then he became aware of stroking on his arm, coolness and a bitter smell. Some kind of salve. His arm felt clumsy and far away. Lots of murmured speech. Someone held a warm cloth that smelled of barley and herbs to the back of his skull.
He reached for God. Nothing.
"Where are you?" he asked with urgency. He slurred his words.
"Easy." A smooth voice. "Drink this."
Hands on his body, and Gabriel flexed, struggled – they were touching him, hurting him, going to push him down and violate him – Sodom. "Leave me alone!" he shouted, but pain stabbed through his head, and he crumpled.
"Gabriel!" came a stern voice. It sounded…like authority. He knew it. Not sure who it was, but he knew it. "Stop it! You're safe, but you have to drink this."
Someone touched him, but he struck out again. "Don't touch him," said the authoritative voice. "Just help him drink."
There was a cup in his hands. It stank of herbs and myrrh and something else. Drink it, repeated the voice. Gabriel gagged it down, then closed his eyes.
"Try to stay awake," said Tobias. That was Tobias. Gabriel was supposed to do what Tobias said.
"Stay with us." Tobias again, urgent.
Gabriel couldn't do more than murmur. "I want my Father. I want Raphael."
He was speaking in his native tongue. It wasn't the language the others were using, but even though he understood them fine, he couldn't produce their words. Whatever was in the cup left his tongue leaden and language at a distance. He pushed, because maybe they'd understand and help, but their word for "Father" wouldn't come.
He tried to lie down again, but someone held him upright. He struck out, unable
to see who it was, and he heard a crash and smelled wine. "Why are you fighting us?" someone shouted at him. "We're trying to keep you from dying! Do you want to die?"
Tumult around him, so many voices, too much motion. Gabriel felt another cup pressed into his hands, warm. "Drink," said a voice, a woman's. "I'm not touching you. Just drink. You need to get better. I'm going to stay here, but I'm not going to touch you."
Gabriel took the cup. But the world was so unsteady, so frightening. He only wanted his Father.
- + -
Gabriel awoke restless, and in the next moment he realized how uncomfortable he was, how he was in a cold sweat, and how his stomach was spasming. Garlic, wine, grease—he could taste everything they'd put into him in the last hours, and he wanted it out. He tried to turn onto his left side, but fire flashed up his body, and his head throbbed. He rolled to the other side and drew up his knees, but he couldn't get all the way over. Someone had bound his arm to his chest.
"Easy," someone said, and in the next moment another angel was all around him, breathing with him and quelling the nausea. "They may be misguided, but they worked hard feeding you even that little bit. You'd be ungrateful to get rid of it now."
Gabriel curled around himself and shivered.
Silence for a moment, silence and peace, stillness inside. Relief. He could relax again.
Then, gathering himself, Gabriel noted the sarcasm and the spiked hair and groped in his mind until names and places tumbled into their rightful boxes. Remiel.
Gabriel whispered, "What happened?"
"Do you remember climbing an insanely tall tree?" She stayed behind him, her wings over his left side, warming the air around him. "Our adversary got his wish: you're finally a fallen angel."
Gabriel probed inside himself, then fought renewed dread: the damage went deep.
Remiel geared up her glow slowly, mindful not to hurt his dilated pupils. "You broke your upper left humerus and dislocated your left shoulder, as well as getting yourself a scary concussion."
Keeping his voice low only made him sound stunned. "No half measures."
"As anyone would expect from you. When you do a job, you do it thoroughly." Remiel brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes, but she stopped when Gabriel flinched. "Gabelus's guardian protected your spine when you hit the ground, and Rafaela's guardian shielded your head. Even so, when I arrived, you were minutes away from a grand mal seizure."
Her subdued light revealed a blue kimono, and the silk slipped over him whenever she moved. Gabriel tried to concentrate on the softness of silk rather than the sharpness of pain. "There was a kitten, right? What happened to it?"
"She's none the worse for wear."
"Did I actually get to the top of the tree?" When Remiel assented, he said, "I hate this. I've never forgotten anything before. It's like a pit in my brain." Gabriel sighed, then gasped. "Raphael doesn't know, does he?"
She squeezed his hand. "He doesn't. They did pray to God to send Raphael, but I intercepted the prayer."
Gabriel let out a long sigh. "Good. I was afraid—"
"It would have been rough for him to stay away," Remiel said.
The world felt like a whirlpool. Gabriel closed his eyes. "Don't let him fall."
"You should have worried about falls twelve hours ago." Remiel hugged him. "I now know what an acute subdural hematoma is, by the way, and now I also know how to get rid of one."
Gabriel touched the splint, and even that light contact made him gasp. "I don't suppose you could mend this?"
"Not without the family realizing." She sat up and away from him, but her warmth remained. "Everyone heard it snap."
"That's a disquieting thought." Gabriel tried to sit up, but it didn't work very well, so he lay back down. "If you fix it, I won't tell anyone."
Remiel stuck out her tongue at him.
Gabriel wanted to shrug but suspected that would be a painful move. "I could get back to work sooner."
"You're not going to go back to work."
"But I have to!" Gabriel kept his voice low so as not to awaken Raguel, unintentionally sounding infuriated. "Tobias won't keep someone who's useless."
She didn't answer because he knew—he could feel it, could feel the futility of protesting. Why should God break the laws of Creation to keep Gabriel in a home where he shouldn't have been in the first place?
Gabriel closed his eyes against a bout of dizziness and nausea. Remiel touched his throat, and the churning stopped again.
"They've been giving me wine for the pain, haven't they?"
"Laced with myrrh at a strength that would drop a camel." Remiel chuckled. "I wasn't sure if you'd awaken from the first dose, but you looked ecstatic."
Gabriel smiled ruefully. "I'll sleep through the next two weeks."
"Future generations will also have scathing things to say about using alcohol to treat a head injury." Remiel stroked his cheek.
He closed his eyes. "I want Raphael."
Remiel yanked back, eyes glinting. "I did my best! I told you, there was an audible snap. I could also have hung a big sign around your neck that said 'Hey, look, I'm an archangel.'"
Remiel's glow suddenly hurt, and Gabriel covered his eyes. Nothing made sense. Raphael could have fixed this. God could fix this. His inner eyes reflexively reached for God. Nothing, a lightning bolt of nothing. "It just hurts," he whispered. "It doesn't stop."
Remiel's wings flared. "I shield you from your enemies and your friends and your wounds. And if you'd rather I go, I ask your forgiveness, and I'll leave."
Gabriel curled around himself, screwed his eyes as tight as he could. The world wouldn't stay on one axis. "I'm sorry," he managed. "I'm not judging you."
His soul reached for hers, and she didn't clamp shut. He let her see the emptiness, the unfilled space God should inhabit, and she recoiled further. Recoiled not as much in disgust as in horror, but then she moved in closer. He sent, It's not you. It's not Raphael. I miss Him. He's not here.
Remiel folded back around him, but it didn't ease the pain. And then she did something he never expected: she opened the same way and revealed a kindred emptiness, the spots of her soul scooped-out and brittle after the loss of her brother, and she'd never get him back.
Gabriel curled up in her emptiness, and she curled up in his, and for a moment he felt understood, and he understood her. All of her.
She murmured, "I shouldn't have gotten mad. Please forgive me. You're post-concussive or whatever they call it."
"You healed the concussion." Gabriel drew up his knees and closed his eyes. "I'm just difficult to be around."
"You still have a concussion. I only made sure it wouldn't kill you." At her touch, the world grew fuzzier. "You're looking in worse shape every minute. Get some sleep."
Gabriel reached up to touch her shoulder, ignoring the nausea resulting from the untoward movement. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I love you." Remiel tucked the blankets around him and cupped her palm around his shoulder, then laid her hand over his eyes. "Just try to get some sleep so you can heal."
Sivan 20
When Gabriel awoke, daylight streamed through the window, and Raguel had already gone to work. He couldn't see Remiel. Tentatively, he used his right arm to help himself stand.
A warning flashed at the peripheries of his consciousness, one of the household guardians, and then it departed.
Dizzy at first, Gabriel had to lean on the wall, shielding his eyes because of the blinding daylight. When the room returned to a constant axis, he made his way into the hall. He tried to head downstairs to the kitchen, but he stumbled and had to rest against the wall again before he could continue.
Angela came up the steps at the same time he started down, and she let out a shriek. "What are you doing? Get back to bed!"
He squinted uneasily.
"Go back to your room. I'll bring you something to eat."
"There's no need." He swayed on the top step. "I'll come down."
&n
bsp; Angela stalked up the stairs, forced Gabriel around and back to his room. "You get yourself into bed before you collapse. Someone will bring you a meal."
Gabriel sat to wait, but then it felt better to be lying prone, and then it felt even better to have his eyes shut, and when he felt himself becoming aware again, he found Tobias sitting on Raguel's bed in prayer. At his side were a cup and a bowl. The room smelled of bread.
Gabriel said nothing, only thought about what he might be praying for.
Tobias opened his eyes to find Gabriel watching him, and he smiled. "You're awake. I was wondering if Angela hadn't imagined the whole scenario."
Gabriel shook his head.
"I hoped you might feel hungry," said the old man, moving to sit closer to Gabriel, "so I took some of the new bread and a couple of fruits. Angela got miffed about the new bread, but I think she understands our honorable cause."
"I don't mean to cause trouble." Gabriel yawned, but that made his head ache. He tried to prop himself on his right arm. He'd had no idea the room got so bright in the middle of the day, and he felt every shift in the floor boards like a boat on the ocean. "I could have gone down myself."
"Yes, by falling, and we'll have no more of that."
Gabriel positioned himself cross-legged, and Tobias handed him the cup. The smell of juice made him flinch, but Tobias wanted him to drink, so Gabriel sipped it, then paused heavily.
"Oh, you can stay with us," Tobias said. "That was never a question. This happened while you helped my granddaughter, after all, and where else could you go?"
Gabriel could already tell the juice and his stomach weren't going to get along, so he set the cup to the side. "I should go home." He tried to sound neutral. "My Father wouldn't forbid my family to take me in; He just wouldn't treat me like a son."
"You're my son until your real father receives you," Tobias said, "and my sons don't say ridiculous things. You'll stay here."
"You took me in as a kindness to a traveler," said Gabriel. "I've outstayed my welcome."
"It's a kindness to a traveler not to let him become one if I can help it. Especially a man with a broken arm."
